


Dangerous Pastimes

by fishpoets



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (so does hanzo), Erectile Dysfunction, Finger Sucking, M/M, Oral Sex, jesse has a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishpoets/pseuds/fishpoets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse's exhausted, but Hanzo's followed him back to his room, and he's not one to waste an opportunity. He can still show Hanzo a good time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous Pastimes

**Author's Note:**

> quick note about the e.d. - it's temporary, not treated as a big deal, and hanzo doesn't shame mccree about it. just in case any of you are concerned about it ❁
> 
> enjoy!

 

Hanzo's in a good mood, Jesse muses to himself, as the pair amble down the hall.

 

They'd returned from a mission not two hours ago. Hanzo had disappeared immediately — to shower, most likely, given how fresh he is — while Jesse had needed to collapse in the break room with a cup of coffee. When he'd gotten himself moving again, thinking only of his bed (and maybe a swig or two from the flask he keeps in his sock draw), there Hanzo was, and by some unspoken agreement the two of them made off for the bunks together.

 

Jesse's glad for the company. The mission was successful but hard-won, and he's feelin' it. Deadeye always takes a lot out of him. If he's left alone when he's like this his thoughts tend to get maudlin, and that leads him nowhere worthwhile. And Hanzo, Jesse has found, somewhat to his surprise, is _good_ company. Moody, sure, and unpredictable, but he can be fun, and funny. Clever and witty. His tongue is sharper than his brother's, quick to turn scathing, but then Jesse likes 'em with a bit of bite. And there's a bit of sweetness there, too, if well-hidden. He knows when a man needs pushing, or when he needs quiet. He knows what it means to make mistakes. Jesse's fond of him.

 

Not that Hanzo's being particularly quiet now. He's unusually talkative, probably still a little high on adrenalin, telling a story of some fight he got pulled into once when he was wandering alone. Jesse's only half listening. Most of his brainpower has been dedicated to keeping himself upright and walking. The rest is wondering at how comfortable this feels.

 

Hanzo seems content to follow Jesse's bootsteps down the hall to his room. He stops as Jesse thumbs in the code, and makes no move to leave, just follows him right inside. He glances around briefly — he's been in Jesse's room before, though never like this, without a specific purpose — but makes no comment about the mess; the full ashtray, the open drawers, the clothes strewn conspicuously on the floor.

 

Jesse hangs his hat and serape on the pegs in the corner and tries not to think about it.

 

Being friends, maybe a little more, with Hanzo is like a two-sided game of cat n' mouse. A strange kind of give and take. Jesse'd like a little more of the _little more_ , if he's honest, but he's found it's easiest to go with the flow. Easiest not to dwell.

 

He could get used to this, though, he admits to himself, as he lets his aching limbs relax into the welcoming embrace of his chair. Hanzo putters about as he continues his story, tidying and straightening Jesse's belongings almost absent-mindedly, as if he does it every day.

 

Jesse watches him from under heavy, half-closed lids, nursing the warmth of his presence like a shot of fine whiskey. Fond. He's too damn fond.

 

"-Do I bore you, McCree?"

 

"Huh?" Jesse blinks himself alert. Hanzo is looking at him, eyebrow raised, arms crossed. He's wearing his kyudo-gi properly, covering his chest and his tattoo. A real shame. "Sorry, darlin', it's been a long day."

 

Hanzo huffs at him. "And now you fall asleep in your chair, like an old man."

 

Tired though he is, Jesse can't resist a tease. "Hey now, you got a year on me. If I'm an old fella, what's that make you?"

 

It's a risky question and he knows it. Give a dangerous man an edge and he'll take a mile, and a Shimada is no different, even if his yakuza days are long behind him. Jesse should know better than to bait a beast.

 

Hanzo eyes Jesse down the imperious line of his nose, scrutinizing. His lips curl over his teeth. A dragon's smile. He takes one step closer, then another, then sinks gracefully into Jesse's lap like it's his birthright, like he's taking his blood-given throne. "What do you think?" he purrs, regal. "Tell me how I seem to you."

 

McCree's a horsefly stuck in honey. Caught, but at least he'll die happy. His breath leaves him in a shaky laugh. "What I think o' you? Well hell, if you ain't the sweetest thing I ever did see." He couldn't lie if he wanted to, not with Hanzo staring hot coals down at him. Naw, Jesse's no horsefly; he's a beetle, a butterfly, netted and pinned to a board by that fierce, dark gaze. All on display. He wishes he still had his hat. "I'm tellin' you, Shimada — the sweetest thing. And that's the God's honest truth."

 

Hanzo's smile turns smug at the edges, pleased. Vain old dragon.

 

"Flattery. Hm. That will-"

 

"Flattery'll get me nowhere, I know, I know." Jesse lets his hands settle on Hanzo's thighs, where he's kneeling over his lap. "God's honest, though. Like I said."

 

Hanzo clicks his tongue. "Hasty," he chides. He slides closer into Jesse's grip. "Always rushing to conclusions. I would have said, 'flattery will get you far', but now I am inclined to change my mind."

 

Jesse's bones may be swimming in a skin sack of exhaustion, but somehow his heart finds the energy to start racing double time. “Since when has anything I've ever said influenced you?” he pleads. “Come now, honey, you know what I'm like. My tongue runs away without my say-so. It ain't fair to punish a man for things beyond his control.”

 

There's a spark of amusement in Hanzo's eyes. He doesn't even try to hide it. “I do not believe you have ever tried to control your tongue, _gaijin_.” Goddamn, but he sounds self-satisfied. Jesse's toes curl with the thrill. “You lack the necessary discipline.”

 

“And you know all about discipline, huh?” Jesse rubs circles into Hanzo's thighs, appreciating the firm muscle beneath the cloth of his pants. “It works real well for you, gotta say. Always look so goddamn good.”

 

There's that dragon smile again, all teeth and predatory eyes.

 

“More flattery,” he huffs. “I'm beginning to suspect you of ulterior motives. Though I do prefer to hear compliments than your usual inanity.” His voice has gone as dark as his gaze, low and promising. Jesse shivers all over.

 

"Shit, Shimada-san,” he pants, “I'll appeal to your vanity any time you please--"

 

Hanzo stills. "Vanity?"

 

For a heart-stopping moment McCree thinks Hanzo's genuinely offended. Thinks he's going to take off, and take with him any chance of this warm little seed of a _thing_ between them growing in the way that it should. Nip it right in the bud.

 

But then Hanzo laughs. A real one, one that has his shoulders shaking, that turns the barely-there lines around his eyes into deep creases.

 

When he looks back up, there's something more in his eyes. _Fond_ , Jesse thinks.

 

Hanzo lifts a hand to his cheek. "Vanity, yes. Genji has always said I am vain." He starts stroking Jesse's beard, combing the wiry, battle-frazzled mess into some sort of order. "He is not wrong."

 

And doesn't that make some part of Jesse all gooey and glowing, to hear Hanzo mention his brother so casually, with laughter and affection still coloring his voice.

 

The rest of him gets distracted.

 

Hanzo is a very thorough kisser.

 

All thoughts of sleep flitter away. Jesse's too busy being brought to heel by the demanding stroke of Hanzo's tongue against his own. They've kissed a lotta times now; too many to count, but not enough for Jesse to be used to it, the way he gets so expertly turned to mush. Hanzo smells of soap and tastes of mint — must've brushed his teeth when he showered — and his lips are a soft, sweet counterpoint to the rough curling of his fingers in Jesse's hair. Jesse's scalp prickles in complaint. He revels in it; it feels damn good, after hours of stewing in his hat. Vaguely he wonders if Hanzo minds his grimy hat-hair. If he minds that he tastes of ash and cheap coffee, and stinks of sweat and old fear. But Hanzo moves closer, kisses deeper, and doesn't seem to care.

 

Though it seems he does care about some things. The tone goes somewhat sour when the hand that's been plucking open the buttons of Jesse's shirt travels downwards, over his belt buckle and down further, searching. But for all the blood thumping in Jesse's ears, there's nothing going on downstairs for Hanzo to find.

 

This's good, it really is, but he's just too dang _tired_.

 

Hanzo hides his surprise well, but Jesse is sharp. He notices. As Hanzo sits back, he steels himself.

 

“You do not--” Hanzo starts, then snaps his mouth shut.

 

Jesse resists the urge to grimace. “I'm an old man,” he says sheepishly, and hopes it's enough of an apology. “Ain't nothin' wrong with you, darlin', I swear-”

 

Hanzo hushes him with two fingers over his mouth. He gives Jesse a small kiss, and rises up to leave. Jesse makes a wordless noise of protest — just because he's not firin' on all cylinders don't mean he's ready for this to end just yet — and drags Hanzo back in by the grip on his thighs.

 

He's rewarded with enthusiasm. Hanzo reaches for his face and kisses him again, fiercely, hungry. Jesse wraps his arms around Hanzo's waist, revelling at the thick, solid weight of him. All that strong muscle. All that power. He turns his head, giddy; mouths at one of the broad palms cupping his cheek, licks the salt from the skin. Hanzo hisses out a sharp breath; Jesse feels it on his face, under his hands. He licks a stripe up Hanzo's middle finger, tongues at his callouses. When he glances up from under his lashes, Hanzo's eyes are so full of pupil they look almost black. Too hot to look at. Jesse shivers, smirks, sprawls lower in the seat so that Hanzo can lean more weight on him.

 

With his free hand Hanzo weaves his fingers into the thick hair on Jesse's chest, thumbs at his nipples. His other hand chases Jesse's tongue back into his mouth. Jesse accepts his fingers with a whimpered moan, riding a wave of heat; god, if anything was gonna get him going tonight, this'd be it. He pushes his hips up regardless, tugging Hanzo down as he does, starts a slow, dirty grind that has Hanzo pressing hard against his hip.

 

They almost topple the chair. Hanzo leans over him, lordly and devouring; further and further he leans, with Jesse pushing back against him all the while. The chair tips, wobbles. Jesse corrects their balance before the lurch in his stomach turns to freefall. “Whoa, careful now,” he chuckles. Hanzo huffs and steps back off the chair, enviably steady, and reaches down to grab Jesse by his shirt. A moment of frustrated pulling and shoving later, he's maneuvered Jesse where he wants him; laid out on the bed, back against the wall.

 

“So bossy!” Jesse can't help his mouth running. He's overflowing with compliments, shares them as Hanzo removes his top and lets it fall to the floor. “Woowee,” he whistles, “ain't that a sight. Sweetest thing.”

 

Hanzo kneels over him again and shoves his fingers back between Jesse's teeth. “You and your big mouth,” he scolds. He pulls down on Jesse's jaw to open him wide. “You are speaking nonsense.”

 

“Jus' big enough, I reckon,” Jesse pulls away from the intruding digits just so he can make more noise. “You're more than enough to shut me up.”

 

Hanzo gives him a withering look. “I will pretend you didn't say that,” he says, magnanimous, and moves his strong, clever hands to the ties on his hakama.

 

Jesse grins, wild. “Much obliged, darlin'.” Saliva pools under his tongue. His fingers twitch in anticipation.

 

Hanzo's all business. Jesse doesn't get much time to admire the proud curve of his cock before it's being eased between his lips. Jesse greets it with his tongue, flicking beneath the head, guiding him in. He'd forgotten how much he enjoys this. It's even better with Hanzo rearing above him, chest heaving and eyes heavy with pleasure.

 

Hanzo grabs his hands and directs them to their places on his thighs. Jesse digs his fingers in and moans at the feel of skin instead of cloth. As sharp and deadly as Hanzo is, here he's soft as melted butter. Soft as golden silk. The silken fall of his hair, the silken smoothness of his skin under Jesse's greedy palms, the hot, hot silk of him pushing along Jesse's tongue, slick and sweet.

 

Soft, but not delicate. Hanzo shifts closer, speeds up. It's one thing to know a man must have powerful thighs, to be able to run up walls like a goddamn goat; it's quite another to have them braced and tensing and _huge_ under your hands, working like pistons right in your face. Jesse gets hit by the wild wish that he was kneeling while Hanzo sat, so Hanzo could squeeze his head between those strong thighs. Or — he slips his flesh hand back to grip the thick curve of Hanzo's ass, and groans when he thrusts harder — or if Jesse was lying flat, so Hanzo could sit on him, on his face, could smother him with muscle, and Jesse could leave beard burn in sensitive places--

 

Other thoughts for other times. He puts a pin in them for later.

 

Hanzo's hand tangles in his hair and pulls roughly, tugging his head back. It pushes him to a different angle, deeper — Jesse's throat flutters around it, frantic. His fingers clench.

 

Usually he likes to do this with more finesse, but he's lost his coordination, and Hanzo's pace is too much for him to get his bearings. So it's sloppy. Jesse imagines he can feel his own saliva still on Hanzo's fingers, wet against his cheek; cheeks that're getting wetter by the second, with each push of Hanzo's cock into him. He's drooling, messy, running down his chin. He must look a wreck. Hanzo's seein' him like this. _Makin'_ him like this. Is this what gets him going, having a mewling, begging ruin beneath him? Or is it more the freedom to make a mess of himself?

 

It doesn't take long for Hanzo to get close. He snarls, losing his rhythm; Jesse pulls him in tighter, sucks him right to the hilt, ghosts his metal fingers over his perineum and back between his cheeks. That does it. Hanzo tenses and jerks, gasping — that familiar electric spasm — and spills, hot and thick on Jesse's tongue. Jesse swallows; it seems impolite not to, and besides, he's loathe to push Hanzo away to find something to spit in. He cleans him carefully and lets him slip from his mouth. Hanzo sinks into his lap, floppy and boneless, and buries his face under Jesse's jaw.

 

Jesse gathers him in his arms. He wipes off his face with his shirt sleeve — thing needs a wash anyway — and presses a gentle kiss to the crown of Hanzo's head.

 

It's strange to see Hanzo so vulnerable, collapsed and panting into Jesse's ear. For once nothing is poised or practised about him at all. Jesse sees his shoulder and the back of his neck all the time in combat, but the sight seems so different from this angle, with thick strands of Hanzo's hair falling astray, with him shivering in Jesse's embrace.

 

Yeah, Jesse could definitely get used to this. He could get addicted. Hell, it might make Angie happy, if he swapped out nicotine for this kinda craving. For the privilege of having Hanzo all wrapped up in him, flushed and mussed and beautiful.

 

Jesse smiles, hums, rumbles like an old dog sleeping in the sun. Fond.

 

“Don't laugh at me,” Hanzo mumbles, stirring.

 

“Who's laughing?” Jesse's voice has gone all raspy. He clears his throat. “I ain't makin' fun o' you, Hanzo, promise. You just got me feelin' real good, that's all.”

 

Hanzo trails his hand across Jesse's chest and sighs. For a while he's quiet. When he does speak it's almost under his breath, soft as a confession. “You are a dangerous man, Jesse McCree.”

 

Something rings out in Jesse's ribcage, like someone just beat a gong deep beneath Hanzo's palm. “Comin' from you, that's a hell of a compliment,” he says, steering himself light and careful 'round it. He's all adrift, off-centre, his internal gyroscopes turned about. All his emotions runnin' amok.

 

Hanzo reaches down between them again and pats at Jesse's zipper; no dice. Jesse shifts. His legs are going numb. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, meaning it. “S' just not happenin' tonight”. He lost no blood today, there's plenty of it still thudding round his body, but it's all tingles in the tips of his fingers, in his shaky arms, singing through his lungs and his heart. Thud, thud.

 

It all turns cold when Hanzo pulls away. He lifts himself off Jesse's thighs, off the bed; as he moves, the intimacy pulls away with him, and here they are, back on different sides of the line again. Back to the old push-and-pull. An endless game of tug-o'-war. The thing in Jesse's chest twists; he feels annoyed with himself, suddenly, almost angry, for not being able to make this last longer. Betrayed by his own exhaustion. He wants to reach out again but his arms are too heavy. They could never catch Hanzo, who is slippery as eels, as hard to grasp as water drops on hot desert sand. Or a mirage, a heat haze, never there to have held at all.

 

A dragon won't be caught unless it wants to be.

 

Hanzo is silent as he puts himself to rights. He tidies his hakama, slips back into his kyudo-gi, hides all that delicious warm skin behind cloth. He reaches up to fix his hair — but then he hesitates. Jesse watches — hooked, pinned — as Hanzo's fingers hover over the gold tie. As he pulls it fully loose.

 

He stands there in the middle of Jesse's room, winding silk around his palm. In the dim light he looks as lost as Jesse feels.

 

_Neither of us knows what we're doing, do we?_

 

For some reason the thought brings Jesse back to steady ground. Why's he bein' so green about a little uncertainty? Improv is his armor, his bread-and-butter; he knows how this works. He's been gambling with chance all his life.

 

He gets up and walks over.

 

The silk-wrapped hand stands like a barrier between them. Jesse reaches for it. “So,” he says, relieved when it's given to him willingly. He plucks at the gold fabric, unwinding it again. Stalling for time. “That was a damn sight better than what I had planned for tonight. Don't reckon I can think of a more pleasant way to spend an evenin'.” He dares to run his fingers down the front of Hanzo's shirt, where the two sides of fabric cross over. “'Cept, o'course, night's not over yet.”

 

Hanzo meets his eyes. There's no heat in them now, only a faint shadow of apprehension. He doesn't respond.

 

“You don't gotta leave, you know.” Jesse's voice is low, sincere.

 

Hanzo drops his gaze. He glances toward the door. “I...”

 

“C'mon. Hanzo.” Jesse inches closer, tugs at Hanzo's hand, needy, hopeful. Takes the leap.

 

“Stay with me.”

 

Hanzo closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, and mutters something in Japanese that Jesse can't catch. Then he tugs the scarf from Jesse's grip, drapes the cloth over Jesse's shoulders, and uses it to drag him down for a kiss. It's a goodnight kiss, close-mouthed; a farewell, but Jesse can't find he minds when it's given so sweetly.

 

Hanzo lingers close after they part, his fingers finding their favored spots in Jesse's beard. “I will see you tomorrow, Jesse,” he murmurs, and bestows another quick kiss before he lets go.

 

He leaves with his hair down, his scarf still looped around Jesse's neck; taking a part of their shared softness with him, leaving a little of himself behind. Jesse cleans up, falls into bed, and looks at the scarf in the bedside light. It's covered in a subtle scalloped pattern, woven through with metallic threads that catch the light. Golden dragon scales. Armored hide. Shed and given to him for safe-keeping.

 

Jesse smiles. He's getting awful sentimental in his old age.

 

He reaches over and turns out the light.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing these guys (or anything overwatch) and i'm still trying to figure out their dynamic, so hopefully i did them justice..! definitely going to write more of them because hooo boy, i'm in love


End file.
